


Sharp Objects

by Island_in_the_Shadows



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Erotic Poetry, Hannibal Being Hannibal, M/M, Murder Husbands, Poetry, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, What I envision as Hannibal and Will on the lamb, unwitting cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 04:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_in_the_Shadows/pseuds/Island_in_the_Shadows
Summary: A poem where two monsters go about their lives after the fall."The guests are gone/ And with them/ The sharp objects/ Of congeniality/ That the hosts pretend/ To attain;/ The underlying pieces remain/ To be seen/ And not seen/ By the sheep that/ Left."





	Sharp Objects

**Author's Note:**

> Just two Murder Husbands going about their fake lives and still throwing dinner parties where people are eating people but raving about the food. Lol

All their beautiful things,

In their sparkling dizziness,

Were sharp objects

When peeled back.

 

Supple skin

Was coarse ground glass

Mutilating the flesh to an

Unrecognizable state.

 

A chrysalis composed

Of the exquisite pain

Required to become exalted splendor.

 

Phalangeal demonstrations of affection

Were punishing,

Slicing,

Bruising

Thorns in the sides of eyeballs,

Seen and unseen,

In the oceanic expanse

Of an iris

With a belladonna pupil.

 

And on the garden of Carrara marble

Float the charming sensations of

Foxglove,

Datura,

Hemlock,

And Oleander,

Splattering the white

As a knife leaving a stomach

With a vindictive smile.

 

There He gets dressed for the night

In fine suits,

Silks,

And ties

Wrapped around loins

That lips devour

In morbid pleasure

And excruciating display.

 

Table of the bacchanal,

Impeccable in design,

To the delight of the public

Who so easily worship the seemingly

Divine;

There the outlier smiles

At the work of the demon

Who put up the feast

That is ignorantly consumed,

An incognito horror,

To all but he.

 

The guests are gone

And with them

The sharp objects

Of congeniality

That the hosts pretend

To attain;

The underlying pieces remain

To be seen

And not seen

By the sheep that

Left.

 

The immaculate conception

Of fiends in revelry

Is stalled

Until the evidence is

Expunged expeditiously—

The demons needs its

Every

Satisfaction—

And then it continues

For it began ages ago,

Put on hold but for the masses.

 

And then it goes,

Blurring them further

Than already they were

Blurred;

Grips on hips,

Hands on pectorals,

Lips on neck,

Claws on trapezius—

Sharpness in bed is not

Desired

But fervently required—

Warm bodies

Pressed against

Cold bodies

Dripping saliva and blood

In further prayer

To Dionysus.

 

An acute mouth

Laps at a cock

With its pernicious tongue,

Causing torturous delights

That only a devil

Could beget.

 

This is a game,

Rampant violence

Erasing lucidity

At a frantic pace

As the devil is flipped,

Bound by a creature

Of His creation

And submitted

To a langue vivant

Tracing his length

And his eager,

Succulent orifice.

 

Groans pierce the air

As benedictions to

A vulgar god

While a stinging stab

Takes place

Without the assistance

Of tearing or blood.

 

Ecstasy exploded

Behind closed eyelids

As the devil wrenched

At the chocolate locks

Attached to the one who

Pummeled into Him;

There was never any

Innocence—

All pure sensation

Of music and murder;

The wails of the theremin

Equating to the waves

Of sound emitted

From their raw, fleshy chords.

 

Et voilà, la petit mort!

Accompanied with the press

Of a hunting knife hid

Underneath the down

Pillows cradling

The ashes atop

The demon’s head.

 

The knife point pressed into

Scarred musculature,

Nicking another brand

Of sweetness onto

The perspired flesh;

The knife changes hands

And the demon

Marks His attacker

As His equal,

His lover,

His mylimasis,

For in their sparkling dizziness,

In their violent beauty,

Their innards revealed

Sharp objects.

**Author's Note:**

> Et voilà, la petit mort: And voila, orgasm. (Not the literal translation but it's what it means here.)


End file.
